


And Nicky Hates to Lose

by spirograph



Category: Real Person Fiction, Westlife
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-27
Updated: 2005-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirograph/pseuds/spirograph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shane isn’t stupid. He hears the taunting words as they fall from his lips, piling up and up until he’s surrounded by a comfortable façade of wife-and-kids, shielding himself behind all that constant mockery, that <i>safeness</i>, hiding from the mistake he thinks he might have made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Nicky Hates to Lose

Shane remembers the first time: practically flying through the streets after their show. Drunk and breathless, tumbling forward; skidding through puddles and tripping on cobbles; falling face first onto Nicky’s hotel bed. He remembers laughing- the aching of his cheeks - grinning as Nicky clumsily clambered on top of him. He doesn’t remember hesitating, but he knows he wanted that night to go on and on and on. From there it’s an easy instant rewind back to day one: the memory of sitting on a lumpy, maroon couch when Nicky walked through the door, and it was all streaming sunshine and cloudless blue sky - No. It wasn’t, because memories are easily twisted like that. It was raining and the sky was grey; they were still in Ireland and winter was at its peak, but Nicky lit up the room and Shane was staring too hard for too long, trying to inconspicuously wipe the nervous sweat from his palms onto the denim covering his thighs. 

It had been smooth sailing from there on in, but Nicky had kept touching him, always hugging or leaning on him until publicity photographs became an endless montage of what was so blatantly obvious between them; a glossy monument to an urge Shane should have resisted right from the beginning, to the way he kept touching back, fingers itching to linger just a little bit longer. And Shane couldn’t stop himself from going home and falling in love with Gillian because she was pretty and her laughter was contagious. She wasn’t Nicky but she loved him back so damn much and she made him think of marriage and children and that estate he’d always dreamed of building way out in the country.

Then just like that, he’d thrown himself head first into married life and everything suddenly seemed so safe and secure. Nicky had done the same and it shouldn’t have been surprising, really, the way they almost simultaneously shucked their bachelorhood and surrounded themselves with a new assortment of full-page husband-and-wife publicity shots. Shane remembers the week before he left for home, a month before he proposed to Gillian; he told Nicky it couldn’t work and Nicky had been unsettlingly silent. Shane should have heard the words turning over in the other mans mind, should have heard the exact moment when he realized what Shane was going to do. Now they spend their time making light of the fact that Nicky’s dog is far less expensive to care for than Shane’s baby girl. Shane isn’t stupid. He hears the taunting words as they fall from his lips, piling up and up until he’s surrounded by a comfortable façade of wife-and-kids, shielding himself behind all that constant mockery, that _safeness_ , hiding from the mistake he thinks he might have made. 

It's dangerous being on tour again because Nicky breaks through that façade so often, wounding Shane’s defenses with nothing more than a smile. And if he’s honest he’s happier than he’s ever been. It’s so easy to push the guilt of what they’re doing aside, to be distracted from the simple fact that it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself what they have is meaningless, cause that's an outright lie. 

Sometimes he hates Brian a little bit for leaving, at least with him around Shane had an escape plan, someone to talk to when Kian and Mark were off entertaining themselves. Now they pair off because it’s always been that way, Kian and Mark, Shane and Nicky. It’s always expected that they’ll end up together, and there’s some security in that; he wishes he didn’t depend on it so much. 

Squinting against the inhumanity of morning Shane feels the familiar throbbing of a hangover lurking just behind his eyes. The residue from the smoke machines at last nights concert itches his eyes and his skin tingles; he can taste the faint tang of beer on his tongue. 

“Shane?” he hears whispered and Nicky is standing just inside the doorway, clinging to the frame as if to keep himself upright, his knuckles turning white with the strain. Shane’s response, a dry and croaky “yeah, man?” barely makes it past his lips.

Nicky shuffles all the way inside the room and pushes the door closed until it clicks. When he reaches the edge of Shane’s bed, the over-starched, over-bleached hotel bathrobe he’s wearing falls from his shoulders and onto the floor in a single fluid motion. 

Nicky slides naked into Shane’s bed, shimmying beneath the thick, heavy hotel duvet, easing himself over until he’s lying sideways along the length of Shane’s body, one leg draped over Shane’s thighs, limbs tangled up with his and just breathing; smelling of stale pub air and the lingering scent of alcohol and cologne. Shane inhales deeply until he’s overtaken by the free-fall-feeling of hung-over dizziness that makes him sink further into the mattress, soaking up the heat of Nicky’s body as he shuffles impossibly closer. 

“Fuckin’ morning,” Nicky grumbles, and Shane smiles. He likes that it has always been Nicky making him laugh and Nicky telling him how it really is, never sugar coating the truth when it really matters, relentlessly arguing his point until Shane can only shrug and admit defeat. That’s how it had been trying to tell Nicky it was over the first time – no, the second time, after Shane was married and they’d almost finished recording. Nicky kept wearing him down, endless reasons as to why their relationship should continue, until Shane was literally backed against a wall, being shoved again and again, breathless and wanting, conceding because it was easier than fighting back. Nicky isn’t the type to give up, anyway, and Shane finds it hard to say no to anything Nicky says anymore. 

So they continue gravitating toward each other, trapped within their sphere of messy-friendship like the world is lopsided and they just keep falling into each other’s space. Shane supposes they probably fell in love somewhere along the way, between the pre-concert sleepless nights and endless days in the studio, during the extended plane rides where Nicky had the nervous jitters and refused to stop talking and Shane’s attention span ran the risk of running out for good so he just sat the hell down and listened. 

Nicky hoists himself up and onto Shane’s body, straddling his hips. Shane can barely keep his eyes open from exhaustion and his objection is swallowed in a kiss that’s sloppy and inelegant, the sound of their teeth clacking together twice as loud to his sensitive ears. His fingers thread through Nicky’s hair, whole body arching against him as they move together in their familiar rhythm, sharing open mouth kisses until the whole world falls away, narrows down, and he can feel his own heartbeat stuttering out of control inside his chest, Nicky’s fingers tugging at his clothes, hands ghosting across his heated skin. Nicky grabs Shane’s hand, pulls it to his face and sucks two of his fingers into his mouth, runs his tongue along the length of them before Shane pulls his hand back, brings his knees up and nudges Nicky’s ass until he scoots forward, quickly slipping his fingers inside the other man with practiced ease, his own eyes falling closed at Nicky’s sharp intake of breath. 

They’re good at this, making it hot and fast, a special skill they used to use in the backstage rooms of stadiums, in the darkened bathroom stalls of clubs, an easy way to take the edge off when it all got too intense. Only right now they have all the time in the world but Nicky’s being impatient, bearing down on Shane’s fingers, leaning forward with his eyes screwed shut and hands clutching the pillows on either side of Shane’s head. 

Nicky throws his head back and gasps; for a moment it doesn’t seem real and Shane’s universe spins, tilting unnaturally at all angles until he’s nauseous and gripping Nicky’s hip desperately with his free hand to try and stabilize himself. Nicky wraps his own hand around his cock and groans, stroking himself roughly and Shane just watches as he comes over his fist and collapses, gasping into the crook of Shane’s neck, pressing wet lips to his shoulder. Eventually his breathing evens out, heartbeat slowing, muscles relaxing. It feels a lot like they're melting together. 

Nicky lifts his head slightly, light sheen of sweat on his forehead and looks straight at him. “It’s always been you,” he says, like it’s an answer, but Shane doesn’t remember ever asking him a question. He understands though and it almost seems like enough just to know.


End file.
